Diced

by Deany Ray

  “It was probably the people standing next to me when I tried to light my drink,” I said. “They were most likely scared to death.”

  “I must clear the air.” She dashed about the room, spraying into every corner while the students tried hard not to stare.

  I quickly straightened up our stations, then went to retrieve my mother. It had been a long day.

  “Something still is very wrong,” she said. “I think I should do a chant.”

  Please. No. Just get me out of here.

  I had to do something fast. “I sense the air is very clear,” I whispered in her ear. “The inner goddess that’s within me tells me we must leave.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. I had no idea if an inner goddess was a real thing, but it seemed to be working.

  My mother nodded. “Well, if the goddess says so, then go home we must.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, as the ace detectives from CMC were on route to Marty’s house, my mind leaped ahead to that night’s dinner.

  Who knew what would happen with Alex and my family gathered around the table? The possibilities were endless. And frankly, pretty scary. At least everyone should be well rested for the evening. Thank goodness for small favors. I’d gotten my mother home by ten after the crazy cocktail evening. We’d both headed off to bed before it got too late. Nobody had gotten drunk. Nobody woke up all hung over. That was good.

  On my way home from class, a text had come in from Celeste about our schedule for today. She and Marge would pick me up at eleven, then we would head to Marty’s. Eleven. That was fabulous. Yay for sleeping in. And as luck would have, my mom hadn’t scheduled any oldsters to rock and roll beneath my window until nine a.m.

  I smiled a little to myself in the back seat of Marge’s car. The night before had been a kick. I’ve never thought my mom could be so much fun. I had a good time hanging with her and I was relieved as well that no one got hurt.

  Before I’d moved back to my hometown, my life had been quiet, kind of dull. And the one thing you could be sure of when my parents were around: I was never ever bored.

  Marge pulled to a stop at a small brick house that sat in a row of almost identical well-kept ranch-style homes.

  “Here we are,” she said. “Let’s hope Marty has a clue where his buddy Stanley went.”

  “Yeah, it would be nice to wrap this up,” I said as I undid my seatbelt.

  Marge stepped out of the car. “I’m hoping, hoping, hoping that this will be the day we get a big break in this case.”

  Celeste rapped lightly on the door, and it was answered by a woman with a pouting toddler in her arms. The child looked at us defiantly, as if we looked at him the wrong way, he would let out with a wail. The woman’s eyes looked tired and her hair was a tangled mess. It looked like the kid had spent the morning pulling her golden curls in every possible direction.

  Celeste gave her a smile. “You must be Aurora. We spoke on the phone. My name is Celeste and these are my partners, Marge and Charlie.”

  As if she were too tired to answer, the woman ushered us inside without uttering a word. She led us to the kitchen, where she cleared toys out of the chairs so we could take our seats. As we settled in, she cleared half-filled bowls of cereal from the crowded table and wiped up some puddles of milk from the vinyl tablecloth.

  I studied her for a moment. She’d be pretty in another life where she had time to brush her hair and wipe the toast crumbs from her blouse.

  Just then, three squealing children ran into the kitchen. The oldest one, a boy, seemed to have his sister by the hair.

  “Momeeee!” the sister squealed, hugging an armful of toys tightly against her chest.

  “She hit me first,” the big brother yelled, defiant.

  “Did not, did not, did not.” The girl began arranging rubber ponies on the table, marching them closer and closer to Marge, who looked on, amused.

  “Cookie, cookie, cookie!” a smaller sister said, sobbing into her mother’s skirt as if the most tragic thing you’d ever heard had just befallen her.

  Another girl ran in. Sheesh. How many of them were there? Had they heard of birth control?

  “She took all my little horses!” said the newcomer to the room. “I need the pink horse. It’s her birthday! There’s a party!”

  Again, without a word, Aurora handed every child a pony and a cookie. Her expression never changed, as if she had to settle ear-piercing battles several times a day. Stupidly, I wondered if she had another cookie.

  “That’s enough of your shenanigans,” she said to the kids. She lowered the toddler to the floor. “Someone get your daddy. Tell him the guests have arrived.”

  Silence soon ensued as five messengers ran off to tell their daddy we arrived. I picked off a bit of cereal that had stuck to my elbow. Sorry, mom, I thought. Those kids you’re wanting me to have? They suddenly got moved way down on my list. Maybe Brad will have some grandkids for you. Come to think of it, maybe not. How will he ever meet a woman sitting on the couch?

  Soon a tall and bearded man made his way into the kitchen, a wide smile on his face. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I had some work in the garage.” He took a seat by Marge.

  The TV came on in the den, which was down the hall. Some loud song about a train reverberated through the house.

  Marty smiled again. “Thank goodness for TV. That should keep them quiet for five minutes. So. You had some questions about Stanley?”

  “We do,” Celeste began. “Deborah has asked us to find out what we can. As you can well imagine, his wife’s just worried sick.”

  “Oh, yes. So tragic. The murder at the store,” Marty said, looking genuinely sad.

  “Do you have any thoughts at all about where he might have gone?” Marge absently picked up a pony that the kids had left behind.

  Marty shook his head. “Not a clue. I’ve tried to rack my brain, but I just come up blank. I don’t see the guy a lot, just when there’s a game on, one that’s really good. I’d say that I see Stanley maybe once a month.”

  “Was there something on his mind?” Marge asked. “Was he worried about something?”

  Silence filled the room.

  “Not that I could tell,” Marty finally said. He stared down at the floor.

  “Was there anywhere he went a lot?” I asked. “Beside out with you to watch the games. And beside the Busy Bee and home?”

  Marty shook his head. He seemed somewhat nervous; I sensed he was holding something back. Was this a cousin protecting his cousin? What did Marty truly know?

  I looked him in the eye. “You know we’re on your side, right? This case involves a murder. And what we want – and Deborah wants – is to make sure that Stanley’s safe.” Not exactly true in Deborah’s case, I guessed, but he got the idea. Stanley could be in harm’s way. It was best to find the man – for his sake as well as Deborah’s.

  “Oh, I completely understand. I’d tell you if I knew,” Marty said. He kept glancing toward the door, as if he was anxious to continue whatever project he was working on out there.

  Celeste lowered her voice and leaned in close to him. “Do you suppose that Stanley was seeing someone else? If he was, that could be a clue. That could help us get him back to safety.”

  Marty looked surprised. “Stanley? Man, no way. No way would he do that.”

  Hmm. Somehow I believed him now.

  “Any thoughts,” I asked, “on who the dead guy was? Or who might have had a reason to take a knife into the Busy Bee and stab a man to death?”

  Again, Marty shook his head.

  Aurora came into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. She cut her eyes over to the table and took her time wiping down the counters.

  “Was Stanley having any issues with the people that he worked with?” Marge asked.

  Marty met her question with a stare. I don’t believe she realized that she was trotting the horse across the table as she waited for his answer.

  Celeste reached over without
a word and took the horse away. Marge glanced over at her, sheepish.

  Marty glanced toward the garage, still anxious to get away. “He didn’t talk much about the place. It was just a crappy job. He liked it okay, I guess.” His face turned red; he cleared his throat. “Well, it was nice to meet you, ladies. If that’s all the questions that you have, I’ve got a project waiting that I need to finish up.”

  Celeste handed him her card. “Thank you for your time. Please call anytime if you think of anything. Anything at all.”

  He nodded and stood up quickly, as if we might change our mind.

  “Don’t forget to clean up out there when you’re finished,” Aurora called behind him as he hurried out the door that led to the garage. “No dirt piles and no oil stains.”

  Marty waved his hand to indicate he understood.

  We all prepared to leave, with Marge rifling in her flowered purse until she found her keys. Celeste was the first to stand, wiping crumbs off the back of her neat blue skirt.

  Aurora glanced toward the garage, then turned up her eyes toward us. “Not just yet. Please sit.” She said it in the calm, authoritative tone that she used with the kids.

  “Mom!” a voice cried from the den. We heard the sound of running footsteps.

  Aurora called out in a calm voice. “Just hit the big red button. Look for the biggest button, that says P- L- A- Y.” She sounded out the letters. “Then it will play again.”

  The footsteps went the other way, and soon the train song started up again.

  Aurora took a seat and glanced again toward the garage. “I think I might know something,” she told us in a whisper.

  Finally! A break. My heart skipped a beat.

  Marge put her keys back in her purse and took out her notebook, her eyes growing wide.

  “Okay, here’s the thing,” Aurora said as we settled back around the table. She spoke in a low tone. “I know what these men are up to when they are supposedly going out to watch a game. Although they think they’re being so smart. But I know when there’s a real game, and I know when they’re gambling. Sometimes when they claim to be out watching sports, I know that none of their teams are playing anywhere.”

  “I see,” Marge said, her eyes growing even wider.

  “When did this all start?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was years ago when I first heard Marty talking to Stanley on the phone about how much they might bet. He thought I was in the other room, but I heard what was up. Ever since, I’ve tried to listen when I know Stanley’s on the phone or when those two are here talking in the den. I feel bad for Deborah. I don’t think she knows, and it’s the woman’s money too. I get the idea that Stanley’s into it way more than my husband is. If Marty bet as much as Stanley did, I’d put a stop to it for sure. I let him have his little fun. I just keep my eye on things.”

  Celeste looked intent. “Have you told this to the police?”

  “Not a word,” Aurora said. “And I’d prefer they didn’t know. It could come back to hurt Marty because it’s not exactly legal.” She looked at us solemnly. “I hope you’ll be discreet. You look like women I can trust. And I, of course, want Stanley to be found. Hopefully safe.”

  “We understand,” Marge said. “Thank you so, so much.”

  We all paused a moment to absorb the information.

  It was me who broke the silence. “Do you know where it is that they go to gamble?”

  Aurora thought about it. “I heard them mention one place. It was some bar in town. It had a funny name, I think. But that was long ago.”

  Oooh, how I’d love to figure out that name. “Do you remember anything about it?” I tried to jog her memory. “What made the name so funny?” I pushed my glasses back in place from where they’d slipped onto my nose.

  “It was a stupid name. Something about a nut. The Lumpy Walnut? Fat Pistachio? I just can’t remember,” Aurora said.

  “Oh, let me try,” Marge said. Marge did love a game. “The Pimply Peanut maybe?”

  This whole dumb conversation stirred something in my memory. I thought about the cocktail napkin I’d seen in Stanley’s office. On the napkin was a name. I’d made a mental note of it because it was so peculiar. I closed my eyes to think. “Was it The Bumpy Cashew Bar?” I asked.

  “Bingo!” Aurora nodded. “That’s exactly it.”

  Marge looked at me, amazed. “How did you guess so fast?”

  Score. I knew where we were going soon.

  “You’ve been so helpful.” Celeste touched Aurora’s hand. “We can’t thank you enough. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a few more questions. Do you have any idea about what really happened at the Busy Bee that night?”

  I held my breath expectantly. This woman was observant. I guessed with all those kids, she really had to be. If anybody knew the answer, it might just be Aurora.

  Unfortunately, she shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t help you here. But I can tell you this. We won’t be going there till this thing gets figured out. My kids are always begging to stop at the Busy Bee. They just love the hot dog man, and sometimes their cousin Stanley will sneak them little candies they keep behind the counter. The kids, they love their cousin Stanley. Do you think he is okay?”

  “We have no reason to think he isn’t.” Celeste touched her hand. “We’re trying really hard to find him and make sure of that.”

  “Yes! Please keep us informed if you think of something else,” Marge said to Aurora. She looked down at the pink horse, which had somehow found its way back into her hand. Sheepishly, she handed the small toy to our hostess.

  “I think there’s a party in the den that the pony might be missing,” she explained to Aurora. “It’s a birthday party, and I think your daughter said that this one was the birthday pony.”

  “Marge, it doesn’t matter.” Celeste touched her back and steered her toward the door.

  Soon we were in the car, exchanging squeals and high fives. It had been a good day. CMC was on a roll.

  As if in celebration, Marge turned up the radio as she pulled out onto the street. I hated Marge’s station. Their catch phrase might as well be Sappy Love Songs All the Time.

  “Marge, please turn it down,” I said. “We’ve got things to figure out now that we know what Stanley’s up to.”

  “Gambling,” Celeste said as she rolled down her window, then lit a cigarette. “That explains the missing money. But was there something special he needed money for? Or he wants to just gamble?”

  “I wonder if he’ll go back to the Cashew bar?” Marge asked. “Or gamble somewhere else while he’s on the run?”

  I watched outside my window as the houses gave way to stores and parking lots as we made our way back into town. “We need to figure out if Stanley’s gambling is somehow connected to the murder,” I said. “And we need to figure out who died at that store.”

  Oh, so many questions that still had no answers. But we were on our way. I felt good about our chances of solving this for Deborah.

  “Who feels like a drink tonight?” Celeste asked. “At the Bumpy Cashew Bar?” There was excitement in her voice.

  “Margarita!” Marge shouted. “We’ll keep our eyes wide open. This is so exciting. Drinking undercover.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I’m out,” I said. “My mom invited Alex to have dinner at our house tonight, remember?”

  “Oh, tonight’s the night!” Marge squeaked. She looked back at me and grinned. “Love is in the air!”

  Celeste grabbed the wheel. “Marge, for heaven’s sake. Turn around and drive the car.” Then Celeste turned to me. “You know, Charlie, this might not be so good for business – you and Alex as a thing. He’s not exactly open-minded to the work we do in town.”

  I gazed out the window as I answered. “It’s not a thing; it’s dinner.” Hopefully with no surprises. But with Barbara, Jack and Brad, whoever really knew?

  “Well, the bar can wait another night.” Celeste blew out a ring of smoke. “It’s not like Alex is g
oing to run in there tonight and get the information first.”

  “Cause he’ll be at Charlie’s house,” Marge cooed.

  I wondered if Alex knew about the gambling. Had he found out somehow?

  Soon we were in my driveway.

  “Have fun tonight!” Marge said. “I can’t wait to hear.”

  Celeste nodded her goodbye. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. We’ll come up with a plan. Good work on the bar name. That’s a good lead.”

  When I walked into the house, Brad was on the couch (of course). Some lady was screaming on the TV about how her husband’s no-good brother had to come to visit for a weekend and ended up sleeping in the guestroom for almost a year. “He eats enough for five men and leaves his smelly socks and dirty plates for me to pick up,” she screamed into the camera. “As if I’m his maid! He should leave and get a job. I want him out of here.”

  I looked to see if the no-good slacker dude was also on the show. What would this dude say? I hurried past the TV, before I turned into Brad. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

  “Where are the folks?” I asked Brad.

  He stared blankly at the TV.

  “Earth to Brad! Hello!”

  He looked up at me, startled. “You talking to me?” he asked, as if the room was filled with people.

  “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  “Dad’s still at the diner,” he said. Which made sense, I guess. It was still early in the day. People might still come in for late lunches or dessert.

  “Mom’s out in the garden,” he said, still staring at the TV.

  “Cool,” I said. “I’ll go see if she needs help.” I had to do something to keep busy. I was getting really nervous about Alex and the dinner. It was just a fact; my mother could find a million ways to embarrass me to death. I tried to push the nightmarish visions into the far corners of my mind.

  The day had turned cool and beautiful as I went out to find my mother. She was pruning her impatiens, which were blooming in yellow and bright purple.